The next time Jiyong opens his eyes, it's about noon. The door of the bedroom is wide open and he can see a bit into the living room. He sees a sofa, and a woman sprawled on it, sleeping. Next to her are pieces of fabric and scissors on the coffee table. She's been working, he concludes. But oh well, if he is going to be this bored, he might as well have just died in that damn alley, he thinks. So he uses every ounce of his strength to get out of bed. Somehow he manages, but the moment he stands on his feet, he gets so terribly dizzy he's almost ready to fall down and hit his head once again and never get up again. With his hand against the wall he helps himself until he gets used to leaning on his own two legs. 

Stepping closer he can see that she's firmly asleep. Even sleeping she looks incredibly tired. She is still clutching on a piece of fabric like it's a child's hand she can't let go of. 

He looks around the apartment and concludes that she's not rich. She's not poor either, but there is nothing luxurious about where she lives. There's an armchair next to the coffee table and there is a small TV. There is a CD player and a collection of CDs and, surprisingly, a gramaphone and a collection of vinyl records as well. He allows himself to scan through. She doesn't listen to one genre only, as he sees, there's everything - from Ella Fitzgerald to QUEEN. It's a pretty decent collection too.

But what's really marvelous is the large bookcase against the entire eastern wall - entirely filled with books. There are all sorts of titles, but he notices that those books that seem most worn out are all placed on one same shelf. Those are the ones she holds dear and goes through over and over and over again - and they're almost all about design. 

His fingers trace the covers as he's quickly scanning the titles. He stops when he notices a notebook, squeezed in between two large books and practically invisible. He pulls it out but then he figures it's a diary, in which case - of course he's not going to read it. 

He opens the worn out notebook and sees that it is indeed a diary, but not just a diary - it's also a notebook filled with her drawings and designs. He skips through all the writing and to all the magnificent sketches. And he is in awe.

He's not usually the one to be amazed by someone else's abilities - he is pretty talented and skillful and brilliant himself so it takes a lot to impress him, as he thinks. But these drawings - oh boy - these dresses... They're stunning. But why are they here? Not only are they hidden from the world, but they seemed to be even hidden away from her own self? What is she doing? What is she afraid of? He sees her wiggle on the sofa and so he quickly closes the notebook and puts it back where it was, not wanting to get caught sniffing through someone else's apartment and personal belongings. The moment he puts the notebook back, he feels a sudden surge of dizzyness out of nowhere, and he leans against the bookcase for support. A large book falls off and hits the floor with a boom, and Jiyong cringes because he knows he's messed up.

And he's right. Chaerin wakes up violently with a ''Oh my God!'' and ''What is it?'', looking around completely disorientated. She has been so alarmed all through the night she couldn't even sleep peacefully.

''It's- just- um'' Jiyong stutters and he isn't exactly sure what to say.

''What are you doing out of bed? Are you insane? You shouldn't be walking. And what were you doing looking through my stuff?''

''Um.. I- I was just looking at the books. And... one fell.''

''Just sit. Over here. Sit'' she says, motioning to the sofa from which she got up. She quickly gathers all the scissors and fabrics from the table and takes them away to her room. She returns with a pillow and a blanket, and places them both accordingly. He obeys and makes himself comfortable.

''Why in the world did you get up?'' 

''I was bored'' he simply replies.

Bored. Kwon Jiyong was bored. Of course.

''Well, don't walk around anymore until you're feeling better. Unless you're really determined to kill yourself'' she says, and then she glances at him with hope that he might start talking about his jump without her asking about it first. But he doesn't. He doesn't even pay that sentence much attention.

''You're brilliant, you know'' he says.

''I'm sorry, what?''

''I said you're brilliant,'' he repeats, with slight annoyance that Chaerin can read in his voice, ''Your designs. The drawings. They're amazing.''

''You looked at my designs? Did you-?''

''No, I didn't read your diary!'' he answers before she can ask, not even hiding the annoyance now.

''You had no business going through my things'' she says, now cleaning the glass of the table before them. She does it so hastily as she figures it's better to clean the surface off than to punch a suicidal man in the face. 

''Why are you hiding?'' he asks blatantly.

''Excuse me?!''

''What are you hiding from? I mean, you have amazing talent. Alexander McQueen would've made you his apprentice with that vision. What are you afraid of?''

''I'm not afraid of anything.''

''Then why are you not where you should be right now?''

''I have my own reasons'' she grumbles, before walking away into the kitchen to get yet another mug of coffee. She needs to stay awake now.

''I don't usually compliment people, you know, so... my words should mean something to you.''

''Oh really? Well, Mr. Kwon Jiyong, as impossible as it may seem to you - I don't care about your opinions!'' she shouts from the kitchen. 

''Besides, I don't owe you any explanations. You, on the other hand, owe me some'' she continues, now back with a newspaper in her hand, and she places it before his nose. ''Explain.''

Jiyong looks at the newspaper for a few moments and blinks, before he grimaces in utter disappointment. Above a picture of him a headline says ''THE SECRET BEHIND GD'S SUICIDE?''

''Oh, great! Just great'' he says, ''They couldn't even put up a nice picture of me after I'm dead. Wonderful!''

Chaerin cannot believe that an like him actually exists on Earth.

''Don't get clever on me and explain this'' she insists.

He purses his lips in reluctance. ''Hm.. Can't you just read the papers?''

''Not a word of this is true, seeing that you're alive and on my sofa. So tell me, what were you trying to do? Is it debt? Gambling? I mean, you're rich, you could've just paid it off. Is it drugs? Wha-''

''No'' he cuts her off. ''It's none of that.''

''Then what is it?'' she asks again. ''Why did you want to die?''

''I didn't'' he says.

''What?'' she asks in confusion that now reaches inhumane levels.

''I didn't want to die'' he says, ''I wanted to live.''

''By jumping off a building?''

''Exactly. Oh for Christ's sake, those are two stories! Two! It's not even that high. I didn't count on dying.''

''But you would've died, hadn't I found you'' she reasons. ''Are you a moron?''

''No, I think I'm rather brilliant.''

''Well, you think too highly of yourself Mr. Kwon because that was unbelievably stupid.''

''I may think too highly of myself but you have to admit it's much better and more useful than the other way around'' he says. ''I don't underestimate myself like you do.''

''You're being incredibly insulting right now, you do know that?'' she retorts. 

''It's one of my better vices,'' he shrugs, ''I do it with sass. Still, it doesn't change the fact that I'm telling the truth.''

''No, you're not. I don't underestimate myself; I'm perfectly aware of my abilities. Some people just aren't as lucky as you.''

''Lucky? Honey, I am everything but.'' he says. ''I'm brave. I'm crazy. I'm not lucky.''

She huffs. Why is she allowing him to upset her? Why do his words matter to her? She knows perfectly well why she's made the choices she has - and that does not define her. He's doing it again; he's being an unbelievably arrogant by trying to ''read'' her. It's his God complex all over again.

''Whatever'' she says, ''You don't know me. You don't know anything about me.''

''Let me try,'' he says, ''Lee Chaerin, 22, translator.''

''Brilliant'' she says sarcastically and almost snorts evilly.

''I wasn't finished, darling'' he says. ''Polyglot. Fluent in at least three languages which proves your high intelligence, and judging by the vocabularies and workbooks I saw on one of your shelves - you also speak Japanese. You don't come from a rich family but you're not poor either. Your parents are intellectuals, judging by all the traveling you've done while still so young, which I can see clearly in all your framed photographs around your apartment. But your biggest passion is fashion design, which I am not only concluding based on the drawings I saw but also by the undeniable sense of aesthetics you have. This flat is awfully basic but still tastefully decorated. Still, you're afraid to do what you want to do the most because you're uncertain about the future and you're not absolutely confident in the possibility of your success. Your fear is so great that not only do you hide your talents from the public, you also hide your drawings in private places. That speaks more about you than you might think.''

''So, what, you saw all these photos and books and made a few conclusions-''

''You're a very bipolar person. Jugding by the music you listen to as well as the books you read and the clothes you wear. No style defines you, no definition fits you. You're always on the extreme, running on two polar opposites. You tend to put up a mask of a tough individual, which you've been doing since we've met, but on the inside you're much more fragile than you show yourself to be. You're caring and sympathetic, otherwise you would've left me in that alley. You also have a very strong motherly side - I can see from the way you're hugging your little sister in every single photo. Oh, and you're really good at cooking. Never would've imagined you as a housewife, but... you fit that role perfectly too apparently.''

''Is that all?'' she asks, now angry for whatever reason. The fact that he's giving himself the right to behave like this is outrageous.

''You pretend to be overly confident. The way you walk, the way you talk... You do love yourself, but you overdo the confidence act. In fact, you're far more insecure than you let people see. I figured that out after a few minutes with you.''

''Amazing'' she says, her foot tapping against the floor as every nerve is dancing with her emotions now. ''Truly amazing, Jiyong, you have impressed me.''

''I got it right.''

''Everything'' she says ''And do you enjoy being a -?''

''I-''

''My turn now'' she says, and he looks at her a bit surprised but also satisfied by her taking this challenge.

''I think you're just as insecure as I am. I may hide my talents but you do exactly the opposite - you emphasize the things you think are good about you so that you wouldn't have to think of all the other parts. And you don't really like those other parts of you. You think you're creative and talented, and you magnify those traits so much and keep doing things to keep people focused on them. So that they wouldn't see the rest of you. Which isn't as impressive. That's why you have so many fans, they're blinded by all the glitz and glam. But once you're stripped of all that, I bet there's only a few people that stick around.''

''Good,'' he gulps and nods, ''That's good.''

''I'm not finished. I also think you have a God complex. You manipulate the masses, you can get thousands of people to do whatever you want, and it gives you a sort of a thrill. You think you're above everyone else, like you're some sort of young genius, the artistic savior of South Korea. A visionary. But you're not that exraordinary at all. You're elitist and narcissistic and arrogant and you treat people with complete disregard to their feelings. In short - you're an . Probably a result of being a spoiled child, further spoiled by a father-like boss. You never got a ''no'' from anyone, so you have no sense of authority. Worst thing is, you're still that kid.''

He only gulps, and his eyes are fixed on her, and he wants nothing more but to come up with something witty and clever to say. But his snark seems to have flown out the window. He recognized everything she said as truth, and for the first time he doesn't feel like the mastermind, the manipulator. For the first time he doesn't have the upper hand in the game.

''Quit playing genius,'' she says, making her way to her bedroom, ''You're not that difficult to read either.''